The Sea and Me

Most people agree that kids are cute in almost all things that they do. Or I imagine that people agree on this.. Most of all they say funny things. But there's something about their inane manglings (sometimes logical, but mostly inane) of their native language that is somehow more abundantly cute when you have little hope of understanding what they're saying. Sadly, perhaps, for its creators, I do not imagine that anything similar occurs with Teletubbies in their Mandarin Chinese version, just to take a random example. It may, no disrespect meant to the speakers of that language, just make them even creepier. But their relative muteness probably plays some role in that. It's been a long time since Chip was watching Teletubbies in the kitchen at Cedarcroft, and I have had few occasions to watch that fine and certainly entirely worthwhile television show since, but I remember it thus. I've heard Al-jazeera for children is good though. Only children don't usually understand Standard Arabic very well, so I don't really see how this could be so. Maybe I'm just jumping to conclusions. Maybe I should talk to a child before I rule this out. Maybe, just maybe, a Syrian child would not run screaming or just quietly back away if a tall, bespectacled, apparently recently electrocuted young man started speaking to them in alternately mangled Damascene Arabic and hesitant Classical Arabic. More likely they would just laugh at me and neither of us would understand the other.

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Hello everyone.. A new day in Damascus. Or.. a Tuesday in Damascus, that sounds less momentous and metaphorical. I had my end of session exam (test) today. And afterwards, we took a class picture, and I got to sit cross-legged on the floor in front and hold the "Miss Sufaa''s Level Five Arabic Class" sign. Figuratively. Sufaa' means purity. I'm glad names like that aren't common in English. It's a fine name in Arabic, but names like "Chastity" or "Patience" or "Belligerence" are a little too lyrical and somewhat stuffy for our modern language. Perhaps I would consider "Belligerence" an exception if it were actually used as a name from time to time. People never go for the really good names. In Arabic, you may be interested to know, lots of names, most Muslim names, in fact, have common meanings that sometimes show up randomly in newspaper articles or books, and generally have a much more direct connection to the language than American names. Of course "Muhammad" and "Mahmoud" and "Ahmad" all have pretty religious meanings and are rarely used in other contexts (the first means "Praiseworthy", the second means "Praised Worthily" and the third means "Most Praiseworthy"). But other names have more everyday meanings, like "Waseem" or "Muraad" or "Khadeeja" meaning "Handsome" (I once had occasion to meet a rather misnomered Waseem*), "Wanted (One)", and "Premature Child", just to name a few. But it just doesn't work like that in English. And for the better perhaps. Names are better when they're unclouded by ill-fitting or unfortunate associations. No one reading this, please, have the idea to name your child "Preemie". However I do encourage you, by all means, to purchase a pet skunk. That would be way cool.

Sorry I haven't been posting pictures lately. I haven't been finding a lot of laptop time. I will try tomorrow to post some more, because I still haven't posted anything, much less told the story of "The Sea and Me". Perhaps I had best tell it now....

"The Sea and Me"
--A Bather's Tale--
When I was back there in Latakia, I went out one morning by bus to the ancient Phoenician city of Ugarit, which perches on a little bluff by the Mediterranean. Having scoured this site to my satisfaction, I began to walk toward the sea, wondering if I might bathe in its waters. I asked a shopkeeper "Keef Amshi il-al-shaaTi'?" and he directed me down a road which he supposed led to the beach. I walked through the orange groves, stopping to gaze upon the terrible lizards that abound in that part of Syria, and to listen to the frogs. When I had gazed and listened enough, I walked on and found myself back to the main road. But going along it, I began to make out the water. I walked faster, passing sheep and shepherds within the walls of an incomplete government project until I reached the beach. I walked around on the rocks. I looked in the water. And at last I decided to swim. Changing into my bathing clothes and securing my backpack where only I could see it, I kept my shoes on. Not half as much to be able to walk painlessly to the sea over the water chewed rocks as to be able to jump from the sea to chase away any youth taking interest in my backpack's hiding place. No backpack interested party arrived, nor anyone for that matter, for the time being. I walked to the edge of the rock, where the water was high, but the subaquatic drop-off dramatic. I stood and waited. I had felt the water before and in honesty felt none too welcomed by it. So that the fewer of you will make jest of me, I will say that its temperature I estimated to be twenty degrees centigrade. I sat down, submersing my legs in the water, submitting my seat to the cold lapping of the waves. But it gave me no encouragement. I stood again, but for not as long. For I thought of the shame I would feel did I abstain from bathing. I was thinking of my cousin and uncle swimming in the frigid Labrador Current off Cape Cod. I thought for a moment, though, that the temperature difference between my air and my water was much less than theirs. And the breeze all the stronger. But still, I could not rationalize an escape. At last I jumped. Not a dive, but a jump, for the shock to my senses might well have been greater otherwise. It was a start, but fell short of a shock. So I began to swim around. On my back and on my front, in to the rocks and out. But I fretted for my backpack. A gaggle of men approached, upon the crag above its nest. I do not know that they saw it. But they saw me, and seemed to survey my activity with mild amusement. I swam on my back for them, I even dove down to the bottom, but they left unimpressed. I dove down to the bottom and reached tentatively for a white object I saw there. But my hand was timid, for I could not discern its form and the lower waters were colder. The water was clear and I considered it beautiful. The garbage of the beach did not reach me there. But I was bound to return to it. The sun and my ragged bathing towel dried me well, and I donned my clothes once more, making to return to the city.


----------David

*It's ok, he was very grumpy and was asking a lot of money for an apartment. It's ok.